


Borrowing Light

by Disenchantedglow



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Full Moon, Gen, Healing, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Post-War, Pre-Relationship, Severus Snape Lives, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:47:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22613569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disenchantedglow/pseuds/Disenchantedglow
Summary: Severus watches her, hoping she'll show him the way to once again live.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 11
Kudos: 77
Collections: Spark of Silver





	Borrowing Light

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:**
> 
> During the ritual the moon shone bright in the night sky
> 
> All canon characters, plots, and situations from the Harry potter series belong to Jk Rowling. i am not profiting from this work.
> 
> Thank you to my beta for their time and work on this story.

**Borrowing Light**

He watches her. 

Watches her as she kneels in the soft loam of the forest floor, the white gossamer panels of her robe wisping out behind her with the soft blowing wind. The moonlight dapples her skin as it shines down through the tree branches and highlights the mane of curls loose around her face, providing her a crown of molten silver. 

She is beautiful. Ethereal. Magical.

It's not the first time he's followed her here, but it's the first time he's been so close. Close enough to witness the beginning of her ritual. Close enough to finally understand why it is she sneaks out to the Forbidden Forest every full moon. 

She reaches her hand into the beaded bag at her side, her arm disappearing up to her shoulder. His eyebrows raise at the sight.  _ Ah. _ The infamous Undetectable Extension Charm. There were rumours of such a bag, the younger years whispering the fantastical details of the grand adventures of the Golden Trio in the hallways between classes, but the stories had been so embellished over the weeks he wasn't sure which parts were true and which were sheer fabrication. 

With a sharp tug, a large mirror is extracted from the tiny bag, its oval surface stretching the beaded opening. It's old, the ornate carvings around the glass tarnished with age and the silvering of the mirror having rubbed away in spots. 

The girl– _ woman  _ reverently lays the heavy mirror on the bed of leaves before her and begins to speak, her voice a mere whisper in the silence of the night. She is chanting something, the rhythm of the words raising the hairs on his arms, though he can't yet make out the specific words.

His heart rate increases as he takes in her every movement. He can feel its quickening beat in the skin of his neck, the scar tissue tightening infinitesimally with each pulse of blood through his veins. In one hand he holds his wand, ready to stop her in case of—what, he doesn't know. The fingers of his other hand toy with the buttons at his wrist, a recently developed nervous tic that would have gotten him killed this time last year. There is no room for anxiety in a double spy. 

As his fingertips caress each button, they stutter to a stop at the empty space where one of the tiny metal disks should lay. He must have lost one in class today. He makes a mental reminder to have the house-elves mend the sleeve.

He returns his full attention to the witch, determined tonight to finally piece together why it is she comes to this forested spot at every full moon. Why it is she was amongst the walking dead upon her return in September—her eyes sunken and skin dull from memories worse than any nightmare—but now, out here, under the full moon, she is transformed. She is beautiful and graceful and  _ alive _ under the silvery light. 

He so desperately wants to feel alive again.

She is standing now, her body spinning in a slow circle, her wand pointed at the earth as she casts a protective circumference around herself and the mirror. 

A shielding spell? So it is ritual magic she is performing.

_ Ancient  _ magic.

His mind whirls as he adds this new information to the admittedly small amount he already has. He recalls each of his memories of her actions this year in detail, needing to know what kind of danger, if any, they are in tonight. He has learned to always be prepared. To trust no one but himself. If something could go wrong, it inevitably did, and he couldn't be prepared for it if he was unsure of what was actually happening. 

He knows she's been sneaking out every full moon since the beginning of term. The first time he saw her, she was but a speck of white floating along the darkened castle grounds. It was a cloudy night, the moon struggling to break through the darkness with its silvery beams, and he stood in the shadowed windows of the astronomy tower, ostensibly making his rounds. 

When he saw her again that night as she sneaked back into the castle, she looked serene, her spine straight but her shoulders relaxed and her eyes shining as though she had been given a new purpose. She was so different from the pupil he saw in the back of his class, silently worrying her bottom lip and jumping at every unexpected noise. He was fascinated.

So he watched her. Watched how every month, always on the full moon, she would sneak out of the castle and make her way into the Forbidden Forest, returning in the early morning hours slightly more tired but more  _ alive _ . As the months passed her skin became less sallow, her eyes brightened, and she sat up straighter at her desk in the back of class.

Still  _ he _ struggled. He couldn't sleep and his skin stretched taut over his hollowed cheekbones. Some days he subsisted solely on dry toast and tea. Merlin, how he craved whatever it was that was making Hermione Granger whole again. She was like a flame that he just couldn't ignore, a beacon of hope and chance. No matter how often he fought with himself, he couldn't stay away. Couldn't stop  _ watching. _

He mentally shakes himself. No matter how quiet these woods seem, he is in no place to lose his focus.

His gaze turns back to her as her chanting increases in volume, her head tossed back and curls cascading down her back. She raises her hands in the air as if in supplication, and he is enthralled. 

This is no language she's learned at Hogwarts. No  _ magic  _ she's learned here either.

It's part Celtic and part something he doesn't comprehend. He tries to follow the syntax and the rhythm, but she soon increases the tempo, and he's lost. Lost to the movement of her hands and the swaying of her hips. 

Her fingers and wrists sparkle with each movement as the silver jewelry adorning them reflects the moonlight. Her arms are dancing above her head, twisting and swaying as though caught in a breeze. They move in time with her voice, faster and faster until he can no longer distinguish where one arm begins and the other ends. 

He feels the magic building. It caresses his skin and he can feel it pulsing in his veins. It blows his hair back from his face and makes his robes flutter at his ankles as it swirls around him. Tasting him—testing him—before moving on to the witch who has called it.

He watches as the magic coalesces around her. A bright silvery glow encapsulates her body and she's suffused in light, as though she were composed of the moon itself.

She is radiant. She is ethereal. She is a moon goddess.

As the magic touches her, she releases a heavy sigh, expelling a sickly grey vapour into the light of the magic. It is quickly whisked away and with her next breath, the moonlight pours into her lungs and seeps into her skin until she is glowing. 

Suddenly it all makes sense to him. The monthly outings to the forest. The gradual increase in health. The mirror. The protective circle. 

_ Healing magic _ . 

The witch has called on the goddesses to help her. She's asked that the moonlight reflect on her, allowing her to borrow its strength to heal her aching soul.

It is old magic. Difficult magic that if not done correctly can drain a witch's magical core. He is breathless, privileged to witness it.

She stops chanting and suddenly drops to her knees as though she can no longer hold herself upright under such an influx of power.

She raises her head and looks directly at him, making eye contact. Her lack of surprise shows that she had expected him to be there. She knows he's been watching her.

Her right hand reaches toward him, arm stretching past her protective barrier to beckon him.

"Severus. Come into the light."

He steps forward out of the shadows, his feet leading him unerringly to her, his eyes intent on her gaze with unblinking regard. 

He moves into her circle and feels the magic once again swirl around him, this time stronger, more concentrated. Purposeful. He sinks to his knees next to this witch—this goddess.

And begins to heal.

**Author's Note:**

> S&R: CRW


End file.
